The Pauses Between the Notes
by veteranfangirl
Summary: When Fuu plays her piano, her music just /feels/ different here in Cephiro.


**A/N:** Down mentioned Fuu playing Einaudi, and I've been meaning to do something with Fuu's piano in Cephiro, so there you go. Wrote this about a year ago, am now mirroring it to FFnet. I used to be known as suzanami. Yep, still writing Fuu/Ferio. 3

― ― ― ― ―

" _The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes - ah, that is where the art resides."  
― Artur Schnabel_

Time passes differently in Cephiro than it does on Earth, but Fuu has figured that she's been living in Cephiro for about a year now. She goes home on major holidays but this is her home. A lot of her possessions have been moved into Ferio's large quarters; it feels less like his home and more like _theirs_ , and a part of her flusters and squeals a little bit every time the thought occurs to her.

One of her possessions is not in their quarters, though. It's in a room set back far in the palace, not used often. It's large for a room by most standards, but not actually much bigger than her current bedroom here at the palace. It was furnished with a few chaises and low tables and vases and such, but didn't seem to have any particular purpose. So she claimed it as her own.

Fuu brought to Cephiro the best plans she could find for building a piano. It took some time, but with quite a lot of help she now has a parlor grand, just six feet long, in some warm, very dark wood that's polished and glossy. The materials were approximated with Cephrian equivalents; not quite the same, giving the instrument a unique sound quality that feels like _hers_ , a signature sound that no other pianist has ever played. The keys are what she most notices. They're crafted from the shell of some sea creature, not quite smooth under her fingertips, but she's gotten used to the texture.

It's late morning and Ferio is still asleep. He's usually still asleep at this hour if he isn't forced out of bed by some obligation, but she knows he's still hungover from Caldina's party last night. Well, it was to celebrate Caldina and Lafarga's first anniversary of their union (she can't remember the Chizetan word at the moment), but really, it was Caldina's party. Most parties are Caldina's parties. Fuu was pretty spinny herself when she dragged Ferio to bed in the early hours of the morning and she woke up dehydrated and tired this morning, but a good breakfast in her stomach mostly fixed that. Ferio, on the other hand, will likely be scarce all day.

She relishes the solitude, though. It's been a busy week and this is the first time she's really gotten a few hours to herself to sift through her thoughts. She circles the room a few times in a slow stroll, fingers raised to her chest, fidgeting together. She's tired. Drained. She listens to the sound of her boots on the polished floor, counts her breathing, and finally pauses at the end of the piano. She looks over its long surface, at how the late morning light gleams off it. There's not a speck of dust; it's well-cleaned like most things in the palace.

Circling to the other side, Fuu sits, fiddling with the keys and pedals. She's only had this piano for a couple of months and she's still feeling out its unique sounds. After a while she begins to play. It's slow, a favorite, one she knows by heart. The sound echoes well in the room – not ideal, but not bad – and fills it, fills her bones and her lungs. The sunlight glints off the keys, off the ring on her hand, off one of her pale golden hairs that wafts to the floor. When she gets to the end of the piece, she starts it over. It's one she learned in university, shortly before she decided to live in Cephiro for the rest of her life. The music _feels_ different in Cephiro. Magic is a law of nature in Cephiro and it seems to work its way into everything, physical or not. Things from Earth have a different sort of, well, a sort of aura to them here, even something like music. The moments between the strike of the notes seem stronger, the pause, the intake of breath, and it makes the notes that much _more_.

As time passes (she's been playing for at least a half hour, judging by how the sunlight has moved in the room), she feels something else. Her fingers slow, halt, and she glances over her shoulder.

"Sorry," Ferio mumbles. He's rubbing his face, then runs his hand back up through his hair. "I've been looking for you, is all."

Fuu slowly spins on the bench to face him. "I assumed you would still be asleep."

"Who says I'm not?" He nods towards her. "May I?"

Fuu nods and scoots to make room for him on the bench. It's much wider than is customary for a piano, but it's what was available. She turns back to the piano. "Hungover, then?"

"I think I'm still drunk."

A hint of a smile plays on Fuu's face. "Take caution to not be seen by Clef-san," she says. "It wouldn't surprise me if this earns you a lecture."

"Trust me, I have no intention of running into that old codger today." He presses his ungloved fingers to his eyes. "It's so bright in here."

It isn't really. There are a lot of trees in front of the window and while the light isn't dappled by their leaves at this angle, it is dimmed considerably. But Fuu just tips her head to one side. "You might've gotten dressed before wandering about."

"I might've but I didn't." He _is_ dressed – by his own standards. Pants and a long tunic and his boots half-fastened. Much more than he usually wears to bed. Nowhere near as many layers and fastenings as his position calls for. Especially by lunchtime.

"Why didn't you remain in bed?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Wondered where you were, since you slipped out before I woke up."

She peers at him, eyes passing over his face. He does seem a little bit drunk still, not as much as he seems to think. "Perhaps you should go back to bed," she says softly. "I will bring you something greasy to eat."

Laughing weakly, Ferio, takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. "You're a goddess." He doesn't move though. He just stares into space sleepily, lips still pressed to the back of her fingers. When she says his name softly, he startles. "Sorry. I can get myself some grub. You go back to playing."

"I won't allow you to go to the kitchens looking such a mess," she replies, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes'm," he mumbles. "What's the song, anyway? It's a soft sound but the way this instrument echoes, I could hear it almost down by the vestibule."

"It's titled _Nuvole Bianche_ ," she says, embarrassed as she butchers the words.. "I learned it some years ago. It's – it's comforting to play."

"Comforting to hear. What's a _noov_ \- what's it mean?"

" _White clouds_. It's an Earth language."

"Figured that much. One near to you?"

"No, nearly on the other side of the planet."

"Mm. It's nice."

"Isn't it a bit loud for you right now?" She smiles a little.

"Sound isn't bothering me as much as light is."

Fuu leans in and lays a light kiss on his mouth. "Why don't you return to bed and I'll bring you food in a short while?"

"You're not done playing, are you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't've interrupted." He looks sheepish, and she smiles. He presses his nose to her shoulder, nuzzling. "Carry on."

"But the sound–"

"Mmn. Go ahead."

Fuu swallows, frowns a bit, then turns back to the keys. She slides her fingers back and forth over them silently, feeling them, trying to get back into that place. The first few notes she fumbles, then she finds her groove and slips back into it. She messes up a bit with Ferio leaning on her shoulder this way, but he doesn't seem to care or possibly even notice.

And it's these moments that, in some inexplicable, wordless way defines their friendship. Not the moments when one saved the other, or gave the gift of a plain gold ring, or declared their love or held the other while shaking, crying, frightened. Those are the louder, resounding notes of their song, surely.

But their relationship is defined by these quiet moments in between those more grandiose ones. In coexisting, in sharing breath, in the way Ferio's hair smells or how Fuu hums to herself. The way he wants to stay with her despite the way his head is surely pounding, but he doesn't want to take her from what she's doing, what she's enjoying.

She turns her head to lay a kiss on his temple. She doesn't have to look at the keys to play this song. She doesn't have to pay meticulously close attention to where she places her fingers. They just move, they just know their way. She knows this by heart.


End file.
